August Rush

their 4th and 5th grade sized selves

It's August, and the transition to Fall is nipping at our heels. They are restless, and rightly so. Loose inside bodies that grew like weeds over the summer. Uncertain of where they fit into a new school year. Squirming under the sense that it is almost here - but still so far away.

It is a season filled with worried eyes. With fears that sit half remembered under the surface.

But, also by their confidence.

Not the proud, heady sort, but the quiet kind that trusts me to chase them, to play, to continue without remark when we turn off the lights and a twelve-year-old becomes my shadow. The quiet kind that knows that they are safe and seen and protected.

Because, I am reminded that kids who still don't know each other's names know mine. And, that they use it. Again and again and again. Almost as often as I use theirs. As if we are making each other real. Giving identity to flesh and bone. Creating stepping stones in the muddle that is this transition.

Toby. Gabe. Jonah. Mateo. Gabby.

We're still cashing in on the trust that was built up at camp, using it to carry us through.

They remember when they were "little" and in my small group. Maybe more so now than they ever used to. Because, it's one of those seasons where we go back and trace old threads, where they count back how long they've known me and start to follow one another on Instagram after years without contact, Snapchatting with other kids who remember the storage room or the tree or the constant foot races.

They're deciding who they are, going back and building their own stories.

They've only had a few months to settle into these new grades that they've been given, haven't had the chance yet to test them out in school, and we're at that stage where they feel the need to shake it all up, to see if they can find a better fit. They are testing their wings, creating their own stories, and it becomes a dance to see how much yield there is in this system that has been created.

Boys this way. Girls that. Sixth grade. Seventh grade. Eighth grade.

Summer has reminded them that not all of life is divided into these categories, and they push a little, wondering how firm they really are.

We let them push a little, test, explore, experiment. And, I marvel at how far we have come, from the wide eyed sixth graders who sat as close as they possibly could; from the fifth graders who sat under bushes and covered themselves with bark, pretending to be Peeta; from the fourth graders who used to flip their chairs upside down and use them as spaceships; and from the kindergarteners who we team taught, simply because no one thought to make us stick to the curriculum.

It's August, and this season won't last for more than another week or two. It's a transition, a last holding on before we jump back into the school year. But, we'll take it while it lasts.